


the space in my mind that you take

by lost_decade



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Commitment Phobia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friendship, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, mopey jev
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: He shouldn’t let himself feel nostalgic for Jean-Eric’s moping, it’s bad form, but when Sam asks if he’d like another drink and is rewarded with a particularly French, thoroughly maudlin shrug, he just can’t help the blossoming affection that has no other name exceptbutterflies.
Relationships: André Lotterer/Jean-Eric Vergne, Sam Bird/Jean-Eric Vergne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	the space in my mind that you take

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).

> A very belated happy birthday to you! <3 I hope you enjoy even though there is inevitably some background Jeandré in this. 
> 
> Set after Santiago. Title from Moon by Art School Girlfriend

It’s later in the evening when Sam finds him, late enough that the anger he’d felt radiating off Jev when they’d passed in the paddock not long after the race has now mellowed into a sulkiness that he has a guilty fondness for. He shouldn’t let himself feel nostalgic for Jean-Eric’s moping, it’s bad form, but when Sam asks if he’d like another drink and is rewarded with a particularly French, thoroughly maudlin shrug, he just can’t help the blossoming affection that has no other name except  _ butterflies _ . Really, he needs to get a grip – which mostly he does have, given he’s a grown adult with a championship to win and no desire to get distracted by the man who’s crown he’s coveting. 

Jev doesn’t look much like royalty right now, raising his head with a nod of thanks and clinking the rim of his glass against Sam’s beer bottle. It’s not the same as years ago though and Sam knows that come tomorrow he’ll have put it behind him, the moving on a swifter process than it used to be. In recent months the time they’ve spent together has been few and far between and it smarts a little that Sam isn’t the one Jev goes to when he needs picking up, chance rather than design bringing them to each other now.

Sam has been trying not to take the abandonment personally. Trying. He misses Jev more than he'd care to admit, and is ruminating on this when apropos of nothing, Jev lifts his head, reaches across the table to rest his hand over Sam’s own and asks gravely “do you think there’s something wrong with me?” 

Sam, once the initial confusion leaves him, almost trips over himself to reply in the negative, clamping his mouth closed just in time to keep the awful romcom style  _ you’re perfect  _ from slipping out. 

They aren’t talking about racing, then, Sam concludes. This is about something else, probably André, his brain grudgingly sneers. It’s always  _ André  _ these days, even now they’re not on the same team. 

It isn’t even like Sam has any cause for concern, most of the time at least Jev is walking around like the cat that got the cream, but he looks sad enough right now that something makes Sam want to stick around, nothing too appealing about going back to his hotel room alone to sift through the race analysis in his head again. 

“You want to come up for a coffee, get yourself sobered up a bit,” he asks, after Jev has had three whiskey sours in the time it takes him to drink one beer _ .  _ As tempting as it is to get totally smashed like a teenager, he’s actually quite responsibly happy to make his decisions based purely on his own stupidity, without any additional help. He’s just being a good friend, he reasons as he awkwardly manhandles Jev into the lift, wondering where Carl is, or André for that matter. Jev comes with an entourage these days, people who fill the function that Sam once did. It makes him wonder for a moment if there's something deeper to this than a bad start to the season. He hasn't asked about Lorene, he realises. There hadn't really been much of a chance except for a few comments exchanged over text at the end of the summer, by the time they got to Riyadh Jev seemed to be over it and it had felt like a weird time to ask. He mentions her name, in case it is that. 

Jean-Eric seems to sober, standing a little straighter and stepping out of Sam's embrace. "Putain," he mutters, his accent blurring the syllables together.

Okay, Sam is not going to go there, then. Right. Instead he watches as the lift display blinks through the floors, aware that Jean-Éric is staring at him, doing that endearingly vulnerable thing where he looks like he desperately needs a cuddle and an orgasm, which Sam has always been powerless to resist.

They wind up outside Sam's room, one of those moments where you know you're about to do something that's a very bad idea. Or is it? God, he's only had sex with Jean-Éric once since he married Hollie and the first time he felt bad about it for weeks, although in truth mad at himself as much as for not being able to remember it as for letting it happen in the first place. Brief flashes of Jean-Éric wide-eyed and begging to suck his cock, begging for praise.

Jean-Éric sways against the wall, looking ungainly for a second before he straightens up and plucks the keycard from Sam's fingers. 

*

Fuck but Jev is good at sucking cock though. Seriously, how had Sam forgotten? He’s Hollie-level good but without any hint of a gag reflex. Shit he shouldn’t be thinking about Hollie, he’ll have to tell her obviously.

_ Mmmmf  _ maybe not until he’s back in England though. He tightens his hands in Jean-Éric’s hair enough to earn him a whimper and a tiny hint of teeth, the fucker. He’s very, very close, pressing his head against the back of the sofa and trying to hold off a bit longer because this doesn’t really feel like a night for actual fucking and it would be nice to prolong this a bit, which fucking hell is not going to happen if his brain keeps leading him down avenues of memory involving the last time he came all over Jev’s face.

Jev does something with his tongue that makes Sam feel like he’s absolutely going to lose it immediately, and then suddenly the wet heat is gone, replaced by the ticklish brush of Jev’s beard as he rests his face against Sam’s thigh. 

“I’m no good at this.” A pause, a breath ghosted over Sam’s glistening cock. 

Sam very much disagrees. 

“What? What the fuck are you talking about, mate.” Is this actually about Jev’s blowjob technique, is he having some kind of pre-turning thirty sex-crisis? 

“André,” Jev whines. 

Great, instead of having an orgasm they’re going to have a discussion about fucking Lotterer. Seriously if the guy isn’t happy having sex with Jev then he’s even more of a dickhead than Sam originally thought. He shudders in anticipation of the imagined hell of a discussion about sexual incompatibility, his erection flagging a bit accordingly as if Jev has mentioned his mum or something. Which, now he's thinking about his mum, Christ. 

“You might need to give me a bit more than that to go on,” Sam prompts, “what’s going on?” 

Jean-Éric mutters something in French before getting off his knees and sitting on the couch beside Sam, the outline of his semi-hard cock still visible through his jeans, giving Sam at least something to feel hot about. There’s a long pause, Sam glancing at him out the corner of his eye, waiting for an admission of some sort, his mind flitting through the possibilities, from Lotterer getting caught fingering Di Grassi to Jev having decided he prefers models of the female ilk after all. 

“He wants me to go to Peru with him tomorrow,” Jev confesses, after an annoyingly long period of time during which Sam could have been in throes of orgasmic bliss, “to meet his family.” 

Sam doesn’t mean to snort quite so derisively, managing to catch himself when he sees the forlorn look on Jev’s face. He slings his arm around Jev’s shoulder, cuddling him close and kissing his hair the same way he does with Zack when he’s poorly. “And this is a bad thing?” 

“No. Yes, I don’t know, it just feels like something important.” Jev nestles his face against Sam’s neck, “Something serious.” 

If you’d asked Sam earlier in the day he’d probably have thought the possibility of giving Jean-Éric relationship advice while almost properly getting his dick sucked was quite low, but here they are. He doesn’t really want to talk about this, it makes the question of how Sam himself feels about Jean-Éric too close for comfort, he’s happy his friend has found someone. “You are happy though, right, he makes you happy?” 

“Yes, just…you think I’m being stupid?” 

Sam gives him a comforting squeeze. “Not stupid, mate. But you should probably have a talk with him about the future at some point maybe, if it’s more than fucking around.” 

Jean-Éric nods. “You’re much too fucking sensible, you know that.” 

“Yeah well. Look, I’m not his biggest fan, that’s not really a secret but don’t fuck it up just ‘cos you’re scared.” He's going to start compiling a list of ways to ruin Lotterer's life if anything real actually happens to make Jev sad, definitely. Things to think about on transatlantic flights in between watching all the series he's downloaded from Netflix.

Jean-Éric makes a little noise of resignation, angling his head up awkwardly to look at Sam, the parting of his lips an invitation for a kiss, deep and fulfilling. It’s nice to make out, even if Sam feels a bit weird about doing it now, although fuck it he’s not strong or sensible enough to say stop when Jev reaches for his cock again, stroking him back to life. 

It's good, very good, having Jev's hands on him, callouses against his length making Sam shiver with sensation as his arousal kicks up a notch to a similar place as earlier. Kissing him alone is enough to get Sam hard if he's honest, and he presses his mouth to Jev's again, hot and desperate, chasing sensation. It feels natural to reach over, undoing Jev's jeans and taking him out, the two of them shimmying awkwardly out of the rest of their clothes, underwear around their ankles like teenagers expecting to be caught at any moment. 

"Yeah, that's it," Sam moans, fucking up into Jev's touch. Fuck but his dick feels great in Jev's grasp though, as he arches into the tightness, the two of them falling into a rhythm as they jerk each other off, sharing hot breaths. Christ, it's embarrassing how much Jev cursing in French gets to him, how the soft little whimpers go straight to his dick. He loves Jev's cock, loves the feel of it in his hand; the knowledge that it's been inside him, in his mouth, in his arse, always feels a bit unreal. 

"Fuck, Sam," Jev gasps, his whole body tensing as he comes, hot and wet over Sam's fingers, flouncing back into the sofa cushions with a breathless sigh, his hand still working Sam's dick. The sight of him dazed by orgasm is enough alone to tip Sam over the edge, into the glorious bliss of climax. He lets Jev feed him his own spunk, returning the gesture and refusing to think about how this is actually a bit gross and probably not something he should be doing as a married, responsible racing driver. He refuses to examine the reasons why he doesn't even push Jev away when he ducks his head down to lick up the length of Sam's cock, cleaning him up. 

"You know," Sam begins, "you might want to not do this when you meet his grandma. Just saying." 

The elbow in Sam's ribs feels quite deserved, but then Jev kisses him again and it's nice enough that he doesn't care. 

  
  



End file.
